


Too Perfect To Hide

by BrokenHazelEyes



Series: OT4- Greg/Ed/Sam/Spike [9]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Adorable Spike, Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Early Mornings, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, No Sex, No Smut, Nudity, OT4 has grabby hands, Other, Pancakes, Pretty much Spike doesn't wear pants, Sam's a flirt, Spike has a cute butt, Spike is a tease, but nothing naughty, implied - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:39:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHazelEyes/pseuds/BrokenHazelEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sergeant licked his lips, taking in the soft, but firm, curve of the man’s bare legs and the sharp lines of his strong shoulders. Well, he was more interested in what was covering them. One of Ed’s shirts, a couple sizes too big even for the older sniper, was hanging off the bomb tech’s frame. It pretty much swallowed him, a sharp contrast from the tight fitting SRU gear he was usually seen with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Perfect To Hide

**Author's Note:**

> So, more teasing! No smut, sorry, Spike just gets his butt grabbed... a lot. Please, please (puppy dog eyes) leave feedback because I survive off of it and I love it and it's so, so very appreciated and thank you to anyone who has left kudos and comments. I hope you enjoy, and have a lovely day.
> 
> A/N: I do not own Flashpoint, nor the characters. I do not make a profit from my writing. However, it is still my writing so please don't repost anywhere. Thank you!

Stretching his arm across the bed, Greg’s fingers trailed over the bodies of his lovers as he yawned the sleepiness away. But there were only two warm figures next to him, so the negotiator propped himself up on his elbow and took stock.

Sam was sprawled out in the center of the bed, mouth slightly open and drooling, with Ed happily using his chest as a pillow. They were both clad in boxers, chests bare to the cold air of the bedroom, but a pair of white socks were still clinging to the younger sniper’s feet.

Greg rolled onto his hands and knees and winced as his back cracked, then pressed a kiss to both snipers before crawling off the warm sheets in search of their fourth member. Spike had always been an early riser, and it took a lot of tiring him out to get him to stay in the bed past 5.

Padding softly down the hallway of his apartment, Greg smiled at the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen and leaned against the doorway as he watched Spike flutter around the kitchen like he owned the place—which he pretty much did, being the only member of their unit that could truly cook. A skill he was more than prideful of, and he flaunted it every chance he had.

The sergeant licked his lips, taking in the soft, but firm, curve of the man’s bare legs and the sharp lines of his strong shoulders. Well, he was more interested in what was covering them. One of Ed’s shirts, a couple sizes too big even for the older sniper, was hanging off the bomb tech’s frame. It pretty much swallowed him, a sharp contrast from the tight fitting SRU gear he was usually seen with.

Eyes darkening with Spike’s actions, Greg watched greedily as the Italian stretched up to grab another plate from the cabinet and the shirt rode up, revealing Spike’s pale, bare ass. The soft skin covering his taut butt and hips were covered in fast-fading bruises left from him, Sam and Ed. The lovers all had their fair share of the marks hidden under their thick clothing, and Greg could feel the scratches down his back burning dully. Then the brunette moved back to the stove, moving the pancakes off of the stovetop and onto the plate—catching a glimpse of his older love in the doorway and laughing lightly.

“You can come in, you know.” Spike told him, carrying the plates of pancakes to the table, “Sam and Ed still aren’t up?”

“Why don’t you come back to bed and find out?” Sam asked, brushing past Greg and pecking Spike on the lips before eyeing the pancakes hungrily. His blonde hair was all over the place, jagged in spots and flat in others. His blue eyes were sparkling, and he stretched his arms above his head—all three of his lovers observing the display with drowsy admiration as the muscles of his abdomen flexed.

“Eat,” Spike grinned, pushing him into a seat as Sam responded with a raspy, joking, “I’d rather have you for breakfast.” Then he went back to the oven, quickly switching it off and, before he could turn around, felt a solid form press against his back and a growl coming from the firm chest. A pair of warm hands worked their way under his shirt, resting lightly on his stomach before rising up and brushing his nipple. Spike gasped, body tense and his back arching, but craned his head back so he could press a kiss to Ed’s chin.

“You know,” The bomb tech laughed, pushing away from the team leader and walking towards the table, “Babycakes and Lou don’t play grabby hands when I try and make breakfast.”

“Lou better not,” Sam growled, trying to swat Spike on the bum as he walked by but hit his thigh instead. “He better keep his hands to his self.”

“Would you two sit down?” Spike—ignoring Sam—asked, watching Ed and Greg as he sat down at the table, and Sam looked at the bomb tech’s shirt with a raised eyebrow.

“Is that Ed’s shirt?” The blonde asked, and Spike looked down at himself, confused.

“Huh,” He said, peering at the shirt, “I just grabbed the first one I saw.”

“Looks good on you,” Ed said as he sat down, digging into the warm food. Greg sat across from the bald man, watching as Sam lightly, and playfully, kicked Spike from under the table.

“Looked better when he was reaching up and his butt was on display.” Greg smiled, and Spike’s face went red as his hand stilled, fork inches from his mouth.

“I missed that?” Sam asked sadly, pouting, and Ed was looking at Spike as his light blue eyes darkened like an impending storm. The bomb tech lowered his gaze, cheeks still burning, and quickly finished eating before walking over to the dishwasher and leaned over to place the plate on the bottom rack. He knew it was a mistake the minute he did it, feeling the shirt slip up and pool at the bend of his hips, and there was a sharp cat call from the table as Spike sprung upright.

“Better go get dressed, Spike,” Greg said, walking over with his own dishes, “or else Sam’s going to need a cold shower before we head to HQ.”

The Italian grinned shyly, biting his lip, before a gleam entered his eye and Greg knew they were all in trouble.

Walking towards the bedroom, Spike grabbed the shirt by the bottom hem and drew it over his head, leaving his pale body fully exposed to their eyes as Ed choked on his water. The tight taper of his waist, the muscle of his stomach and back, the visible hard lines of his upper arms and the elegant curve of his neck—the sight of those being drunk in happily. Then Spike disappeared into the hallway without a look back—though Greg knew the expressive brown eyes would be sparkling with mischief, like they did when he was working on a prank.

“Think I’m going to need that shower, boss,” Sam said, eyes trained on the hallway, and Greg laughed to himself as he nodded.

“Today’s going to be a long day,” Ed sighed, trying to focus on anything except the clear, defined—but still lenient—lines of Spike’s body—a body that he’d seen over and over, but the sight of his lovers was still as exciting as it had been the first time.

Greg closed the dishwasher, following the path Spike had taken, and gave a full-body laugh when he heard Sam groan and slam his head against the table.

They all needed that shower.

 


End file.
